Incongruity
by The-Music-of-hands
Summary: Red Wine… So Bitter-sweet............. "I would let you go straight to my heart" -Cid-Aerith-
1. So Right YetSo Wrong

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**Incongruity**

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Every day that he sees her, he tells himself chidingly with a vulgar snarl that _she_ is _not_ meant for him.

So they're sitting alone in the room, the television cackling monotonously in the background, the shapes flickering in and out in a spectrum of colors. The smoke from the cigarette placed gingerly between two chaffed lips drifts towards the ceiling in the damp air, writhing and curling in on itself as it disappears. And he pulls the smoke harder into his lungs, willing his eyes shut. And as he feels her shift nervously besides him, he wishes for a moment that he could be like that smoke and disappear. Once in a while when she's not around, he tells himself that she doesn't mean a thing—not one damn thing—to him, and that he'd be better off with some other lady, maybe someone from a small town or somethin'… And then, when she walks into the room, her dress swaying near her pale ankles, and her lips pulled into a pouty smile, he immediately takes back everything that he just told himself.

But now, they're just sitting there, and she lets him press a hesitant nicotine kiss to the corner of her lips, and she lets him put his arm around her back, his fingers lingering under her ribcage. She lets him turn her around and brush her cheek with the other hand, the edge of his palm tracing her jaw line and moving down to her chin where he expertly lifts her face up, drawing her into a tender kiss—a word never before heard in his dictionary.

She pushes back as he presses the kiss deeper, her lips turned down into a pale pink line, her eyes lowered, lust…disappointment…

And he pulls away too, rubbing the side of his head, breathing harshly. She almost says something then, but decides against it as he's already opened his mouth to speak. So she looks at his face, angled and unshaven, and perfect…just that perfect rugged look, his lips chapped but still somehow to her—_perfect_—his cheeks a defined slant.

His eyes are a dark blue, the perfect contrast to his waifish blonde hair, which is short and cropped, and spiked but not really, just messy and uncombed. They're lowered considerably, smoldering in her direction, taking her in with a greedy gulp as his voice grates roughly. His breathing is harsh; tipping off the scale as her own breathing escalates, almost becoming a small droning whimper. She wants him to kiss her, to pull her close. It sounds like it would be so right…and then…she thinks about the aftermath…and it sounds like it would be so wrong.

"…You want me, but you don't. Right…?"

As he pulls her tighter against his side, palm cupped against the curve of her waist, she sigh's softly, resting her head against his shoulder, craning her neck as she presses a chaste kiss to his jaw. His gaze is still burning at her, lips twitching, calloused fingers brushing softly up and down against the fabric of her dress in rhythmic motions.

He almost thinks that he might have to repeat himself, but then, she closes her eyes, smiling gently—as if she's _happy_ about their compromising situation—her hands grasping his shirt.

Her voice is light and airy, he imagines that it's a bit more husky than usual, but, then again, he's probably imagining.

And she answers back, leaning over to at least kiss him one more time…

"…What a contradiction, huh?"

_It sounded so right…_

Lips brushing against her own, he retorts, his smoky breath ghosting over her almost trembling lips.

"Yeah…what a striking, brazen, wish…"

She finds while he picks himself up, sticking another cigarette between his lips…that she has nothing more to say.

_But…in the end…_

_It sounded so wrong…_

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_End_

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_A/N:_

_Don't ask how I got this pairing. It just seemed to fit so well. _

_Plus, I'm a big sucker for weird things like this, so…that pretty much explains it. I think I'll do more of it, I'm really starting to grow fond for them. _

_Go Cid and Aerith!_

_TMoh_


	2. Red Wine

_A/N_

_I thought about it for a while, and decided to do a second part… It's just been heavy on my mind._

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Incongruity

_Red Wine…_

_So Bitter-sweet_

_I would let you go straight to my heart_

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t has been almost a month since then.

However, things like that, things like sadness and hope, and maybe a sort of kind-of-sort-of love, just can't be let go just like _that. _But, they ignore it for the most part…

At least they pretend that it never happened.

'_But it did…'_

They both think, still sitting there in the room, her body scrunched uncomfortably in the corner of the couch, and his legs splayed widely, carelessly, as he drags a deep breath of smoke, barely resisting the temptation to crawl over to her and kiss her senseless.

However, as his fingers twitch, and he watches her expression change from small smiles to frowns, to little confused pouts, he cannot help but stay away.

Both of them are just sitting there, and today she's wearing the same pink dress and the same boots, but the dress is just a little shorter, and the boots are just a little higher, and he thinks to himself that her perfume just might be a little stronger and her hair a little neater. She is just a little more beautiful than a month ago.

Nevertheless, he's just the same. Greasy and oily, smelling of smoke, cigarettes, regret, and probably lack of personal hygiene; since it's been ages since they got to stay in an actual inn with a shower that didn't run out of water after two minutes.

But, they're just waiting around on that dingy couch, while everyone else is out or sleeping and suddenly, as he puts the cigarette out on the already dirtied coarse fabric of his jeans, she leans over, her lips ghosting over his.

'_It's turned into this…'_

They both think this, as he pushes her down with a gentleness he only has for her—excluding the brat—and as she wondrously tries to slip the shirt over his shoulders.

Now he's peppering her jaw with soft air light kisses, gradually moving down as her back arches, nimble fingers running through his matted hair as if it's her only lifeline.

He can tell with every breath she takes, that even though it's _so wrong_—the worst thing—it feels so right, and in another world, it would be all right. Moreover, he knows, and she does too, but it doesn't stop them…because now, what could be more right, and at the same time, so wrong?

It is the world's most awful and beautiful contradiction.

He whispers against her skin, his lips finding every nook, as her hands tenderly run across his face, his shoulder, his rib cage, fingernails briefly running lines over the scars and the muscle with a delicate murmur.

They are the most ugly and beautiful contradiction.

Who wouldn't have it any other way except for them?

"If you were smoke, I would let you go straight to my heart…" He murmurs to her under his breath, hot breath still skimming over her seemingly smooth skin, though it's just as scarred—just in different ways—as his.

Now, without words, his breathing and hers recite stolen whispers, stolen things…

A delicious…delicious…delicious rare drink…

She's singing to him now, voice breathless, lips finding his own before his hands become tangled in her hair. (His lifeline too…)

"Breathe me in…drink me in…"

_Red wine…_

He is almost to the point of tears, beautiful tears running down his ugly scarred face, his lips rough but tenderly running across her own, as his voice, coarse and grating, speaks gentle words. And in a last moment, he holds her tight, his face buried into a wave of hair and her shoulder, hands gripping both of her arms as she smiles, her own arms wrapped around his neck.

"Don't you _ever_ let me go…don't ever let me go_…_"

'_Stay with me… Stay with me…please…'_

But she gets up, brushing now swollen lips over his own before wrapping herself in the blanket, looking regretfully over her shoulder as he lowers his face, pulling on his pants, skin still sweaty.

She opens her mouth to speak, but finds, just like the last time, she can't find herself to say anything to him.

So, she'll just lift her mouth into that sad heart-wrenching smile, the tears now bubbling at the bottom of her eyes, and turn away.

So, she's slowly walking away, and he whispers one more time, eyes pleading—like he's _ever_ said please for anyone except for her—and his mouth quivering.

"I would let you go straight to my heart…"

She can't even look at him anymore, so she aims for the doorway, it seems to be a thousand miles away…

Bittersweet…

_Red Wine… Red Wine…_

He's at desperation's edge…

He scrambles off the couch, refraining from holding her.

Voice low…

Heavy…

With...

Tears…

"I would let you go straight to my heart…"

'_So right…'_ He thinks…

'_So wrong…'_ she tells herself…

Her voice is low too, wavering with sadness.

"You already did…"

And that's the end.

She is thinking in the darkness of her room.

'_I let you go straight to my heart…'_

He is outside, breathing in the smoke of a dozen cigarettes.

'_So did I…'_

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_The taste is bitter… It is sweet too…_

_Delicious…_

_A beautiful rarity…_

_Drink Me Up… Breathe Me In…_

_Let me into your heart…_

_Red Wine…_

_Red Wine..._

_Let me get drunk on you…_

_Red Wine_

_Red Wine_

_You are all that I'll ever need._

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_End_

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_A/N_

_Ah, _

_I intentionally wanted "Incongruity" to be just a one-shot, but, every time I would think about writing something else, stuff for this would just pop up. So here I am, writing a second part. _

_If we're lucky, this story will probably have three or four parts, depending on when I get sick of writing it. _

_Well, I could never get sick of writing it per-say, but, you fellow writers know what I mean. _

_I guess we'll just see what happens._

_Go Cid and Aerith, we really need more of them._

_TMoh_

_**Disclaimer: Just to reassure you that I won't ever try to own Final Fantasy Seven or Cid or Aerith… I do own the poem "Red Wine" though. It's a pretty old poem, before my Final Fantasy obsession. I made it when I was with my Ex. I'm just glad I could put it to some use, though. This is just a snippet of the poem.**_

_**About time I own something… Heh, heh. **_


End file.
